I had a lot to get off my chest. Sorry. Read the rest of this entry »
Cradle me in your arms
and feed me your secrets
like every one is a little aeroplane.
I’ll take some bites with a pinch of salt
and others like a fine Chinese delicacy
(that will probably taste like feet).
Cut me a slice of silence:
frosted and gilded like a wedding cake
– but of course, I’ve never been much of a fan
of wedding cake.
What I’d really like, you see,
is the tenderloin,
the finest cut you have,
so I can palate
everything your lips have tasted
and every time your body’s wept
and every tinge of pink scar-tissue
that your carving-knife has left behind.
So cut me a steak, or two, or three:
expose your bones
so I can taste the secrets
you will take to your grave.
Hello. This is one of my main assignment pieces for this year, an adaption of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I envisaged it as a whole novel (it will probably never be completed), but here’s the first couple of chapters. My aim was to write a Frankenstein that is a modern homage to the original text, much like what the BBC has done with Sherlock Holmes, rather than a sequel or straight adaption. Enjoy!
Sorry for posting so many pieces at once, but I just finished a poetry assignment and thought people would like to read it. Enjoy. :)
Inside, I’m in stitches
at the incompatibility of this silence,
and suddenly irritated
by the cackle that was once
so, so… beautiful?
Sadly, my dear,
innocence and immaturity are bastards
that go hand-in-hand,
and tonight I have decided,
that I have no time
for either of them.
Ears to the ground, boys.
Can you feel that?
That diabolical thunder
is the greatest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon:
a heat ray to the gut,
a new Ben Hur, all for us –
The Kings of Rome!
Yet it is no fight to the death,
no kind of Martian ultimatum,
but a sensory spectacular!
We’re going to the fair, boys,
and we won’t be back for tea.